


Eventually, You Get To Like It

by dedougal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Grosse Pointe Blank - Freeform, Inspired by a Movie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 15:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after taking down the Leviathan, Dean and Sam are quietly settled back in Kansas. Naturally, that’s when a familiar face thought long dead shows up to cause chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eventually, You Get To Like It

**Author's Note:**

> A mighty thanks to picklepegg who inspired, cheered and betaed this. And thanks to the marvellous mods at SPN_Cinema who got this challenge together! My movie prompt was Grosse Pointe Blank.

Five years ago, Dean’s brother lost half his leg. Well, technically, it was more than half his leg but Sam’s legs were so long that even though it was sliced off above the knee, he was still left with half a normal leg.

Leviathans liked to take souvenirs when they were sucked into some alternate dimensional pocket of space thing that Dean nodded through the explanation of. Half his brother’s leg. Bobby’s hip flask. A whole mess of dirt and grass and a few trees. And Castiel.

Castiel had turned up, out of the blue, the final clue, and then he was gone. Loss made Dean pause, again, and look at the bottom of a bottle more than he probably should have. Looking after Sam when he was mentally whole and impatient with the lump of bone that had once been his leg had dragged him out of it. There was a small town, in Kansas, near enough when people needed help and far enough from anywhere else with memories that they could stumble (literally, figuratively) through the rest of the years allotted to them.

 

Dean liked the radio. He’d spent more time than he could comfortably consider listening to it in his, his brother’s and his father’s fruitless criss-crossing quest. It had been part of the other person in his life through everything they’d gone through. The songs had been more than music. They’d been a soundtrack. Dean had expected the neighbour battering at the door of their run down house to be complaining about the noise. He hadn’t expected a job offer.

“This is KTSE bringing you the best of the past with a little rock to get you rolling in the morning.” Dean pressed the button to start the song and leaned back in his chair. The chair had been a real perk of the job - on wheels, leather worn just right. The radio booth was only a few years out of date, more buttons and switches than high tech computers, but it made Dean feel comfortable. In some ways, it was just like looking after the car - a little bit older and a whole lot better.

The song spun through as Dean watched the slow pace of the street outside. It was mid-morning, too late for the morning rush and too early for lunch. Mrs de Kopchek waved as she went past on her scooter and Dean lifted his hand in salute. Zepplin was winding down and Dean liked to fill the space with news stories from the local paper, chat about sports and odd facts he’d picked up.

There was a big story that the local newspaper would never get a sniff off. There were some visitors coming to town that would prefer not to have their presence announced over the airwaves either.

“Turns out that today marks five years since the meteorite strike that took out that field in Wisconsin. I thought we’d do some meteor facts today.” Dean pulled the piece of paper towards him and fumbled his reading glasses into position. “Shooting stars are meteors - meteorites that burn up the Earth’s atmosphere. That sounds like the kind of distinction my brother would make.” Dean liked to wind up Sam who would be frowning at the radio in his study or in the kitchen. His brother had pretended not to listen to start with but had revealed, too many times, that he’d been picking up on things Dean had spoken about.

“And now time for something a little less ancient than that meteorite but just as dazzling - _Space Oddity_ by David Bowie.” Dean listened to the track start and then sat back in his chair. Five years. It felt strange to be talking about something he’d been at the centre of in such a removed way. Better to keep that secret. A truck drove up the street outside strictly obeying the speed limit. It slowed outside the station window and a girl leaned out of the window and waved. Dean waved back as Krissy’s dad pulled her back inside the cab. She must have finished her finals after all.

He’d catch up with them later. He had more small town stories and pointless facts to spin out.

 

Sam looked reinvigorated by the company. He had coffee ready in the pot and didn’t seem to be ready for his nap. He still found it difficult to sleep if he was on his own. The few times Dean had needed to head out of town, he’d made Sam invite a friend for a visit. He never wanted a repeat of the time he’d returned to find a gaunt, hollow-eyed Sam cowering in the corner of his bedroom.

Chambers had his feet up on Dean’s chair but he moved them quick enough at Dean’s mock glare. There were sandwiches in the fridge and beer and pie for later and Dean was soon drawn into the chatter about translation of ancient languages and the price of gas. The Chambers would be the first hunters to arrive in town but not the last. Sam had gathered the fringes of his network and there’d be more coming to attend his latest brainstorm in the morning. A Hunter Gathering. Dean snorted at his own joke and listened to Krissy argue with Sam.

 

Castiel looked down the barrel of the rifle in his hands. It had not taken him long to become accustomed to human weapons. He was a warrior angel and he had fought demons for millennia. These metal tubes and the death they delivered was not clear or pure. It did not have the clean white burn of an angelic death. Perhaps that had been one of the problems. Death should be messy and red and show people exactly how it hurts. Blood is the hardest substance to wash away, near enough.

A bicycle free-wheeled down the street. Castiel called upon the remnants of what he had once been to see the evil that lay in the heart of the man. That was not enough for Castiel to shoot. It was when the man started to draw a gun of his own out of the bag slung across his chest that Castiel took action, aiming and firing without much more than a second’s pause. He was already moving away from the window as the cries began. One more job carried out cleanly. That was still something he took pride in. Castiel always did want to do a good job.

The jangle of his cell phone made him start. There were only a few people who knew his number now. Fewer, indeed, than in the past. “Hello.” He had not really gotten better at talking on them either.

“Castiel. I have a proposition for you.” He listened as his sole contact and source of information laid out cost and effect. Castiel listened as carefully as he could while dismantling his rifle. He treated his weapons with respect now, not surprise. He could no longer rely on his own strength, after all.

“Where am I going?” He paused, before opening the door. At the name of that small town in Kansas, he felt a chilling rush of heat run up his spine. Then he flatly refused the offer.

 

Dean was quite relaxed surrounded by people these days. Mostly. He still needed his space now and again, heading to the back porch to drink a beer. Nobody battered and scarred here to remind him of what he no longer really did. Sam was in his element, talking over mythos and legends, stretching out a long arm to snag a book to back up his point and he didn’t see Dean take the beer out. He might have noticed if Dean had tried to drink anything stronger – Sam was less understanding about the whisky nowadays.

There had been a lot of war stories shared. And a lot of people bringing up absent friends in one way or another. A name nobody dared speak – and was always at the forefront of Dean’s mind when thinking about the past, it turned out – was that of Castiel. Dean drank his own silent toast and watched the dark hills as if they could provide some sort of answer. Philosophising must come with age, he thought, as he waited for the crowd in his front room to disperse. He’d been doing so well at forgetting what needed forgotten and Sam’s grand plan was laying waste to the levees he’d built around memories.

Maybe philosophising came when he got drunk.

 

Castiel drove into town. His car was plain, unremarkable grey. Nothing to hint at the arsenal in his trunk or the packet of information that had been in his post office box. The town was quiet. Not in any ominous way but in the way of places determined to let the rest of the world get on with its business while everyone here minded each other’s. There were a couple of streets that could be called main, neat row of shops, tended hanging baskets. Even a bench or two with old men reading newspapers.

He felt blackmailed into being here but in some ways he was glad. There had been a time when he’d given up everything to save the people who lived in places like this and he’d resented them. He’d been bitter and angry, emotions poisonous and dangerous. Time had softened the blow and now Castiel felt ready to park his car, step out and re-enter this world. The radio on the car had been picking up an old familiar voice since he’d entered the town limits and he pulled the car into the first available space and let the memories come.

_Panic. Worry that Sam would come in. Worry that they wouldn’t have enough time. Clothes just far enough off for skin to touch and no more. Lust over-riding every thought._

Castiel hadn’t seen Dean Winchester for five long years. He hadn’t touched another human being or - more correctly – another human being hadn’t touched him like Dean. Looking through the window of the radio station, hearing that low drawl, Castiel remembered why not. This was a bad idea. When he sought happiness with Dean, it led to disaster.

His hand crept towards the envelope but instead it stalled, listening to Dean’s voice mutter about classic band connections - influences and shared roots and friendships. In some ways, Castiel could almost imagine Dean talking about the fragile threads that held them all together, glimmering in the morning light, gone with the brush of a hand. It would be wrong of him to do his job, leave town without at least saying hello. A burning urge - something more human than Castiel had been willing to admit to in a long time - to touch, to feel, to look upon the man he’d brought back to earth with all the strength of his being overwhelmed him and Castiel clutched the steering wheel tightly to stop himself from driving straight out of town.

There was more to the plain envelope on the seat beside him than just another job. There had been threats attached from a source he’d thought dead and gone. Threats that implied that Dean and Sam weren’t as safe in Almanac, Kansas as Castiel thought they were. And also that Castiel wasn’t as untouchable as he thought himself to be. There had been holy fire involved.

Dean seemed to be signing off and Castiel listened to the last song of his set. When another voice intruded on his thoughts, Castiel thought it might be best to climb out of the car. He watched Dean step out onto the sidewalk and wave to a man on the bench. He looked... beautiful. Castiel had no other word for him. Dean had always been more than handsome - and he knew it. But there was more than that. A depth of sacrifice and care, a will to do the right thing no matter the cost. A truly righteous man. It made his physical appearance even more beautiful. Cas drank him in: the easy smile, the same bow-legged swagger. He was out of the car without realising he’d done it.

“Hello, Dean.”

 

Sometimes Dean heard Cas. He didn’t admit it to anyone, least of all Sam who’d had worlds of trouble with hearing and seeing things that weren’t there. But sometimes, in his head, late at night or early in the morning, he would hear Cas’ familiar rumble asking him some inane ridiculous question and he would punch his pillow or roll out of bed and into the shower and try to forget all about this.

Dean did not normally progress to full on hallucinations.

He looked behind, up, down and then at the achingly familiar figure in front of him. Sky was still blue with the usual grey clouds. The street was still the one he walked down every day. The only thing out of place was Castiel, still in a ridiculous trench coat, standing in front of him and saying hello.

Dean staggered forward, legs not really keeping him upright and grabbed onto Castiel. He was a little relieved that Cas didn’t melt away under his hands. “Cas?”

“It’s me. I have come to see you.” Castiel kept his voice steady, although Dean could detect the slightest tremble in it. Cas’ eyes were steady on him, still that colour of unearthly blue he wanted to sink into. Fury replaced shock and Dean stepped back in confusion. Then he raised his arm and broke his hand on Castiel’s jaw.

 

“Five years. Five years! Five years.” Dean couldn’t stop repeating himself as Castiel sat beside him on the bench nearest to where he’d parked his car. Dean was cradling his hand between his legs and waiting for the pain to subside. “Five years, man.”

“I didn’t think it prudent to return.” Castiel’s presence reminded him of all the times they’d sat, unsure of what to say to the other before they’d made that breakthrough, before they’d kissed and broke down the final barriers between them. A brief moment of happiness that Dean had hoped would last but knew never would. He’d seen Cas dive into that black, swirling, oily mass and swore that he’d never let anything rip his heart apart like this ever again. That was why he’d loaded Sam into the Impala and driven to this small town and set down roots. It was unexpected but it was pretty much the only way he could deal with it. He couldn’t lose Sam too.

Yet here was Cas. Dean slid his eyes sideways. He wasn’t missing any body parts that Dean could see. He looked older, sure, lines where that had been none before and he didn’t give off that weird buzz that he used to. Sure, he still didn’t quite fit in but the way he’d got out of a car in front of Dean and the fact that his hand was just bruised rather than broken - and Dean could see a reddening bruise on Cas’ face - suggested that some of his angel mojo had definitely been sucked away. “Cas? Why are you here?”

“I was...sent.” Cas watched the light street traffic. “It is good to see you.”

That, finally, had the ring of truth to Dean’s ears. And whatever Cas was up to, he was sure he’d find out soon enough. Trouble was never far from Winchesters. “Five years, though. What’ve you been doing?”

“Professional killer, mainly.” Castiel’s expressionless voice made it either deadly serious or the blankest of ironies. Dean couldn’t tell. He decided not to explore it further.

 

Castiel looked mournfully at Sam’s leg. He should have prevented it. There was no reason for Sam - or Dean - to have been left less than whole. That was vindictiveness on the part of the Leviathans. Sam looked well, otherwise. He was no longer as thin as he had been when Cas had left them. His hair was still long, overlong for someone his age really. He could use his stick without thinking about it, another overlong limb. The house was busy with hunters and those other researchers into the occult, the supernatural and the darkness that Sam had reached out to, weaving a Devil’s Gate that stretched across the world, a network to rival the one Bobby had created.

Castiel didn’t know any of the people in the house that Sam and Dean now called home. Some of them had heard of him but no one other than Sam came close to him. They let him sit in the corner, drink the whisky Dean had thrust into his hand and try not to run from the room. Sam eventually made his way around to sitting beside Castiel, the high flush on his cheeks betraying his level of alcohol consumption.

“Cas, Cas, Cas. Five years!” Sam was not making much more sense than Dean was, repeating himself. Castiel put it down to the whisky. And the beer. And the tequila.

“How are you, Sam?” Castiel decided to play the game of polite human conversation. He had learned that these social niceties prevented situations from spiralling out of control.

“Legless! Get it!” Sam seemed jubilant at his joke, although Castiel found it hard to see the humour. He pasted a polite grimace on his face and waited for Sam to run down. Sam’s hand shot out without warning, grabbing at his shoulder and dragging Castiel closer. “Don’t you leave him again. Don’t you break him.” The words were hissed into Castiel’s ear. He nodded at Sam. There was no need to ask who he was.

The more time he spent watching the ease with which Dean circulated, keeping half an eye on Sam, topping up any glasses in danger of dropping below half full and yet making the person he was talking to feel like he or she had the full force of Dean’s attention, Castiel realised that Dean had found his place. Dean didn’t drink that much himself, not like he used to. He swung close to Castiel’s seat and the acrid smell of alcohol was completely absent. It was ginger ale in Dean’s tumbler, not whisky. Sam loosened his grip on Castiel’s shoulder. “So, what have you been doing man?”

“Assassin for hire,” Castiel answered. He was still watching Dean. Dean was watching him, now and again.

“Oh. Right.” Sam pushed up and tipped forward, a lithe woman coming under his arm to support him across to the sofa. She sat herself in his lap and Sam let her, bringing up his free hand to support her. Castiel couldn’t take it anymore.

Dean found him on the rear porch. “Hey. Not leaving already?”

“No. I will be here for a few days more. I would like to attend Sam’s gathering. There may be information I could supply.” Castiel watched the stars appearing in the darkness. The moon would rise soon. The night was chilly but not cold. It was nearing the summer months after all. Dean came to stand next to him. Castiel could feel the heat of his skin and the way he breathed heavier, as if preparing himself for something. Castiel’s mind supplied flashes of skin and lips and half-murmured words. He downed the remainder of his glass. “I will see you tomorrow.”

Dean let out a sigh. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

 

That night, Dean tossed and turned well into the night. He’d turned over his bedroom to Garth and Becky and the couch wasn’t that comfortable. Not to his ageing bones. Plus there was the little fact that he couldn’t quite stop thinking all about Cas. Cas, who looked just like the memories Dean’s brain seemed determined to drag up. Cas who smelled just like he used to and had the same rough lips. Dean pounded the pillow but the familiar action didn’t bring the usual accompanying sleep.

He was staring blearily into his coffee when Sam stumbled into the kitchen. Dean watched carefully but realised Sam stumbled because of his hangover rather than because of any unsteadiness. He pointed to the nearly full pot of coffee and Sam sank into his chair, reaching out with his long arm to grab milk from the fridge.

“Too strong for your delicate stomach, Samantha?” Dean teased. Sam winced and answered with a raised middle finger. Good to know some things never changed. Dean checked the clock ticking slowly over the sink. He needed to head to work. Soon. “Want me to make you a greasy, slimy bacon sandwich? All that grease and fat just dripping...” 

Sam held up a hand and swallowed hard. “Fuck off, Dean.”

Now he could go to work.

 

Dean was halfway through his shift when he became aware of Castiel sitting on the bench opposite him. Without trying to examine his motives too hard, Dean’s show had been centered around the idea of old love showing up again. He’d probably been more mellow than his usual wont and had opened the switchboard to callers from all over town talking about ex-girlfriends, boyfriends, the one who had got away.

Dean tried hard not to make it personal. He was not going to talk about the man (ex-angel?) on the bench opposite his huge window who watched him steadily, not moving or blinking. The staring felt familiar too. Dean banged his head off his desk. He stood up, half thinking about dragging Cas into his booth, making him sit in the empty seat opposite and demanding answers from him. He was a little worried about what those answers were going to be. Castiel had always answered questions honestly. Mostly. There was that whole Crowley thing, sure, but if Dean had thought to ask the right questions...

His phone was ringing again. “You’re listening to KTSE and talking to Dean Winchester. You’re on the air, caller.”

“Hello, Dean.” Dean looked out of the window to see Cas clutching a cell phone to his ear. “I would like to tell you about the man I left.”

“What would you like to tell us about, caller?” Dean knew, _knew_ that Sam would be listening back home but he had to know, had to hear Castiel spilling his guts.

“He- He was the reason I had for living and I gave up everything for him.” Cas sounded sad at that. “I thought it would be better if I left him until he was safe-”

“How could he be safe without you, caller? Did you ask him his opinion?” Dean kept his voice low, controlling it with a real effort. Castiel was watching him through the window again. “Why didn’t you let him know you were still alive?”

“I... regret that, Dean.” Castiel stood up. “I think it is time for a song now.”

Castiel ended the call and Dean covered the echoing silence with the first notes of Blondie. He couldn’t say anything. Instead he watched Castiel vanish along the street, his disappearance merely accomplished by turning a corner. It was then that Dean noticed the nondescript beige car pull away from the curb and follow Cas around the corner. He checked his headset was off and quickly dialled home.

“Hey, Sam. No. Don’t want to talk about it. Who do you think I am? You? No. I want you to check a licence plate for me...”

 

Castiel watched the pie on his plate. He ate, hating the necessity. Most days he ate the calories he needed to survive and wondered at the people who made a fetish out of fine dining and exotic ingredients. However, it made people more comfortable if he ordered food with his coffee when he sat and waited for the next day to come. It was cherry pie this time.

The door had a bell that tinkled whenever it opened. Ordinarily Castiel would watch whoever was coming in. Today he decided not to. He lifted his fork.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean’s voice was low and soft. He had to turn to answer the greetings of the woman behind the counter before sliding into the seat opposite him. “Cherry pie - you got good taste, man.” Castiel should have known Dean would come here. Dean would always come to places which served the type of food this establishment offered.

“I am not a man, Dean. I have never been.” Castiel put his fork down. He took a drink of the coffee. He had come to like that. He liked the way the black bitterness burned his throat and hurt his stomach. And he felt bad for liking something. His life was a punishment.

Dean didn’t know how to reply. Instead he ordered the same as Castiel from the waitress and waited until she was gone. “You know you’re being followed, right?”

“Do you care?” Castiel hadn’t known. He ran a list of his current enemies through his head. He had tried to discount the worst of demon kind and angels but he still needed to think on them from time to time. “Human or...?”

“They’re driving a car,” Dean said. “But you drive a car, so who knows?” Dean was silent again while the waitress dropped his pie and coffee in front of him. “Best pie in the county.”

Castiel picked up his fork again and ate a sliver. It did taste pleasant. Dean was watching him carefully, much like he used to do. The weight of Dean’s regard had always been a reassuring and comforting thing, even when Castiel no longer deserved it. “It is most satisfactory,” he offered.

“Yeah. So - and don’t take this the wrong way, Cas - you weren’t making one of your jokes when you said you were a professional assassin, now?” Dean kept his voice quiet. Castiel could tell he was worried when he looked up and finally sank into the gaze of those long-remembered eyes. It took him a couple of moments to remember what the question was.

“I was a warrior of the Lord for millennia, Dean.” Castiel forked another bit of pie into his mouth and chewed slowly. “It seemed the best fit for my skill set.”

Dean choked on his coffee. “Your skill set? I get that. I guess.”

“It paid and no one needed a social security number or a birth certificate.” Castiel shrugged, then he and Dean ate their respective pies in silence for a moment.

“Now you’re back though- You planning to stay?” Dean tried to sound nonchalant but his shoulders were stiff and tense.

Castiel chewed his pie slowly. “I... I don’t know. I was thinking about a change in direction.”

Dean let him eat the rest of his pie in silence.

 

Dean made Castiel follow him back to Sam and his house. If the son of a bitch was in danger, Dean still wanted to protect him. Despite everything. Sam had ordered everyone out while he finished preparing for tomorrow so it was just the three of them in the living room this time. Sam had a beer, which he ignored more than drank as he tapped at his computer and swore softly under his breath. Dean poured Cas a couple of fingers of whisky and sloshed ginger ale into his own glass. He didn’t touch the hard stuff at all, not since he’d been forced to go without for a few days and the consequences hadn’t been pretty.

He didn’t really miss it. Not really. 

Castiel sat stiffly on the couch. Dean had made him take off his coat but he kept his suit on. It wasn’t the same suit. It was still black and shapeless. He still wore a blue tie. Dean found himself categorising the differences, watching every minute shift and breath Cas took. It was then he remembered something else from the old days.

“Hey, Cas. Come out to the garage a moment.” Dean threw a wave at Sam who ignored them both in favour of another round of keyboard smashing. Castiel was still silent as he followed although he was looking around. Dean had hung some pictures of Sam and himself in the hallway. Mostly they were recent ones but he had framed the odd snap he’d found in the pages of Dad’s journal. Cas traced his hand over the frames, gentle and wondering. There was one of him and Dean, taken that time at Bobby’s, where Ellen and Jo had made them pose. It was before they’d started doing whatever it was they’d done but they were still close and sitting awkwardly side by side. Dean didn’t know why he’d kept it but he was glad he had. 

Castiel turned away from it, eyes sorrowful. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Water. Bridge. Whatever.” The yearning emotion made Dean spin and walk out. Too much of that and he’d be spilling his guts. 

The car gleamed as Dean switched on the lights in the garage on. This had been one of the first “rooms” that he’d brought up to scratch after fixing the roof and making sure Sam could get from his bedroom to the bathroom and back without too much chance of him falling. The Impala was as much his family as Sam in some ways. Damn. Cas coming back really was making him feel sentimental.

Dean popped the trunk and then lifted the false bottom. The car still travelled fully loaded, if not quite as heavily as in the past. Dean had seen too much to not take precautions. Bundled under a couple of rosaries and a machete was a familiar beige lump. “Guess you want this back.”

Dean watched as Cas ran his hands over the bundle before taking it from him. He seemed unwilling to open it out. “It’s your-”

“I know what it is, Dean. Thank you for looking after it.” Castiel was still stroking his long fingers over the faded material. Dean closed the trunk and wandered around the car, polishing the odd speck of dirt with his sleeve, leaving Cas to his odd communion. He opened the driver’s seat and sat inside. Sometimes, when the weight of memories got too much, this was what he did, running his hands over the steering wheel. Castiel opened the other door and slid into Sam’s seat. 

“This is... where we first kissed.” Castiel was wearing the coat now, even though it was spotted and grubby. “It was-”

“Yeah. Most important moments of my life, right here.” Dean shifted in his seat to look at Cas. “Why did you come back, Cas? For real.”

Cas shook his head. Then he slid across the seat and cupped Dean’s cheek with his hands. All those years before, it had been Dean who made the first move, crossed the gulf between them and pressed his lips against Cas’ dry ones. Now it was Castiel who closed his mouth over Dean’s. His lips were still dry and chapped but soft underneath all that. Dean didn’t let Cas control the kiss, wrapping his free hand in that fucking trench coat and dragging Cas closer. He didn’t want to let go.

They lost track of time, rediscovering the taste of each other’s mouth. Dean parted his mouth on a moan, intending to say something, but the dip of Cas’ tongue inside his mouth made heat overtake him. He was fumbling open the buttons of Castiel’s shirt before he came to his senses again.

“No. No, Cas. Not until you stay.” Dean shoved Cas’ hands out from under his shirt. “And not here. My back isn’t what it used to be.” The humour hung lacklustre between them.

Castiel drew back slowly, obedient but unwillingly. “We should sleep.”

“I’ll show you to the guest room.”

 

Castiel liked waking up slowly. It was another one of those things that should be punishment but had slowly turned into accepted. Getting to sleep was another thing, especially with Dean on the other side of a thin wall. Castiel was still strong enough to put his hand through the wall, to break it down. Less dramatically, he could open his door, push open Dean’s and continue what they had started in the car.

Instead he started reciting incantations in his mind. He hadn’t run through many of his exorcisms in too long. And since he was here, with Sam and Dean once more, the more supernatural elements of his life were likely to reassert themselves. Those were Castiel’s last thoughts before sleeping.

His first thoughts of waking were of Dean. Dean’s smell, Dean’s skin. Dean’s laugh. Castiel ached for Dean in a way he’d thought he’d managed to forget. It was as if a piece of the hardened shell surrounding his heart had broken off and everything he’d ever tried not to feel was seeping out. His cock was hard and Castiel was aware of his urgent need to seek relief in a way he’d never felt before. His hand was on his cock as if thought were deed. The banging on the door interrupted one of his rough strokes.

“C’mon, Cas. We have to get to Sam’s geek convention. Quit jerking off in there.” Dean’s footsteps faded along the corridor but Castiel’s erection didn’t flag. Instead it jerked eagerly at the sound of Dean’s voice. Ignoring the advice, Castiel quickened his strokes, stuffing a fist in his mouth as he pulled ever more urgently. He jack-knifed off the bed as he came, imagining Dean’s hand, his mouth, his ass. All things Castiel had buried, all things freeing themselves from the depths of his memory.

Dean was waiting at the kitchen table and Sam was leaning against the counter, jeans pinned under the stump of his leg. They had been talking but had stopped when Castiel began his descent down the stairs. “You go with Sam. I’ve got some housekeeping to be doing without the pair of you in the house.”

Castiel could tell Dean was lying and, from the annoyed look Sam shot him, this wasn’t the original plan. Castiel shrugged. He was keeping secrets too. “What do you need me to bring?”

 

Sam was quiet in the car, not speaking beyond giving instructions. Soon enough, Cas pulled up outside the type of hotel with conference facilities that every town seemed to have. It was a little shabbier than some he’d seen, but the place was well-kept, with neatly trimmed lawns and ample parking near the main door. Sam didn’t get out just yet though.

“Would you mind just not hurting him this time?” Sam was looking out of the window, jaw clenched. He looked older, more so than Dean. He had lines and grey in his hair. There was a narrowness around his eyes that had never really gone away. Castiel blamed that on Lucifer. And himself.

“I will try.” It was the best he could promise.

 

Dean waited for three minutes, washing dishes methodically while he watched the clock tick around. Then he made his move, gathering his gear and sliding into the car swiftly. He was on the road moments later. 

Sure enough, as Dean had suspected, a beige ignorable car slipped out of one of the side streets near his house. It trailed Sam and Cas, just as Dean was trailing them. It made him grin, actually, adrenaline flowing freely through his blood. The hunt was on.

Dean parked right next to the brown car and was out of the Impala before the two people managed to clamber out. He rounded his baby and pushed the driver up against the side of his car. The man threw up his hands in surrender. “Hey!”

Dean spared a glance for his partner who was fumbling at her hip. Instead of the expected gun, she brought out a badge. “FBI! Let go of my partner, Mr Winchester.”

Now that was unexpected. Dean stepped back, keeping his own hands well in line of sight. “Just got a little suspicious, that’s all.” He flashed his most charming grin. The man relaxed at that, straightening his tie, although the suit was a lost cause after spending what looked like all week in the car. The woman was less willing to lose the frown, but she tucked her badge away and folded her arms expectantly. “Don’t like no one following my brother.”

“Yes. Or your friend, Castiel?” She was watching him carefully.

Dean decided honesty was the best route to go down. “Haven’t seen Cas for five years.”

“We know that, Mr Winchester.” Her partner sounded a little fed up at that. He looked ready to call in the towel. “We just want to know why Castiel has chosen to make contact now.”

“I don’t know.” Yup, no need for lies. “I’m just a DJ. And I’m late.”

The FBI agents exchanged glances. The woman shrugged, obviously choosing to take him at face value. For now. “We’ll speak to you later. We know where to find you if we need you.” Like that wasn’t ominous at all.

Dean threw them a mock salute as he headed into the hotel. He needed to speak to Cas, urgently. And, for once, Cas was going to give him a straight answer.

 

Castiel watched Dean grab Sam and whisper something urgently into his ear before Sam came to the front of the room. From the way Sam’s eyes met his, Castiel presumed it was something to do with him. He excused himself from the conversation about Enochian banishing rituals and made his way towards them.

Sam had managed to gather around forty hunters and friends of hunters here. Castiel was impressed. He had wondered why Sam had been so anxious about speaking and also why they had not chosen to gather in the front room of Sam and Dean’s home. But there were too many people here for that. Sam handed over a key card to Dean as Castiel joined them.

“I need to get started. You and Cas go... sort this out upstairs.” Sam made a shooing motion before moving to the small lectern at the front of the room. All around him, his loyal audience started quietening down and taking their seats.

Castiel followed Dean out of the room and into the hallway to prevent Sam's talk being interrupted. Dean was tapping the card off the palm of his hand before he looked at Castiel and nodded, coming to a decision. "Let's go."

The elevator ride was uncomfortably silent. Castiel could see Dean opening and closing his mouth, shaking his head, engaged in an interior conversation with himself. The hallway was also hushed, with that air of unoccupied solemnity that hotels often had. Dean stopped beside an unremarkable room and opened it, sticking the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle.

The room was mostly empty. Some files of Sam's and a comb lay on the dresser. "We got the room in case Sam needed to rest. He's fine, most of the time." Dean coughed. Castiel could tell he was somehow uncomfortable. Then Castiel looked at the unwrinkled bed and knew why Dean was shifting back and forward on his heels. A punch of lust ran through his veins and Castiel knew the fire for what it was.

There were two armchairs near the window, arranged on either side of a low table. Castiel shook his coat off and sat in one of them. He had taken his old coat with every mark and stain showing his downfall and placed it carefully in his car. It remained a link to who he used to be, a hair shirt reminder in many ways. This one was light and hid the weapons he needed to carry. It was warm in the room but Castiel didn't remove his suit jacket. Not yet. Not now.

Dean shrugged off his own clothes and fussed with the coffee maker, making a trip to the bathroom to fill up the carafe. A muffled shout came from the small room and Castiel shot to his feet, afraid, suddenly... Dean's familiar cocky smirk as he came out into the room reassured him though.

"My brother thinks I might get lucky," Dean said, as he tossed a tube at Castiel. Castiel caught it. Lube. With a post-it attached with only a smiley face drawn on it. Castiel placed it carefully on the table. His hand wasn't as steady as he might like.

"Turns out the guys following you were FBI. Want to tell me something, Cas?" Dean pinned him with an even gaze.

"I've... been successful in my chosen line of work. And there are consequences to that." Castiel chose his words carefully. "They must not have enough evidence to arrest me. Not yet."

"Why here, Cas? Why now? And don't feed me some bullshit about Sam's conference. You knew nothing about it." Dean took some calming breaths, visibly counting to ten before turning to pour them coffee.

"One last job." Castiel admitted it as much to himself as to Dean. "There was one last job and that was it. This life... I don't like who I've become Dean." The last was quiet, soft.

Dean left the coffee steaming beside the coffee maker and came close, dropping to his knees in front of Castiel's seat. He forced Castiel to make eye contact. "It isn't what you should be doing."

Castiel nodded, serious and sad. Dean continued to watch him, rising up to his feet. The movement held all of his old grace despite the wince Dean made as he pushed off the carpet. Castiel grabbed him, held him by the waist, and drew him close, leaning his head against Dean's stomach. After a moment, Dean stroked his hand over Castiel's hair. The touch spoke of care and affection and even love, deferred but not forgotten.

"Why didn't you want to hunt? Help people? Kill the things that deserve to be killed?" Dean didn't really sound like he expected an answer. 

"There was too great a risk that I would meet you and I knew that if I saw you, there was no way I could resist..." Castiel himself stand up, still holding Dean close. They were eye to eye, now. Every single piece of the shield he'd placed around his emotions shattered as if it had never existed.

"Me neither," Dean said, surging close and kissing Castiel. This kiss was different from the one in the car. There was no fight in it, only submission. Dean was letting go and letting Castiel in all over again.

When Castiel pushed at his clothing, Dean let his shirts be drawn over his head and his belt unbuckled without too much hesitation. Castiel compared the figure in front of him to the memories from the past and found himself falling forward again to taste skin, to make it real. Dean had gained weight - a subtle thickening around the waist perhaps - but he was as strong and tanned as Castiel remembered, subtle muscles flexing under the skin when Castiel traced his hands along his arms, down his back. The trail of freckles was still there, drawing him down Dean’s chest to the hard nipples. And they were as sensitive as before, Dean letting loose a sharp cry when Castiel applied his mouth and sucked hard. Then Dean was hauling him back up by the tie and kissing again, plundering Castiel’s mouth with his tongue while his fingers tried hard to find every button that lay between himself and Castiel.

They pulled apart to finish undressing, some unspoken need to be naked with the other. Castiel watched Dean as he went through the motions of undressing. Dean was graceful in this - stripping his boxers down with his pants, bending to unlace his boots before standing, almost ashamed of his eagerness, and watching Castiel with equally greedy eyes. Castiel hoped Dean was pleased with the changes in his body. There were scars where there had only been smooth skin when Dean knew him. The urge to taste overcame all thoughts of bodies then and now. Dean was here and he was real and he was willing to accept Castiel back into his arms.

 

Standing naked was cold. Dean had forgotten that. He’d not really been naked outside of the shower for... too long. He hadn’t been a monk. That wasn’t Dean Winchester. But the need to sleep with waitresses and pretty boys with dark hair and blue, blue eyes had diminished, slightly. Normally it was him and his good old right hand. Then Castiel was naked in front of him, looking like not a day had passed since he’d gone. His skin still had that luminescence that Dean had never found on anyone else. It was pale and still had the trail of moles down his chest. He’d traced them, once, during a thunderstorm that had kept Sam safe inside the library for long enough for them to take their time for a change. Most of their fucking had been quick and dirty, clothes shoved aside and dicks freed.

This was like a new start.

Dean grabbed the ‘present’ from Sam in one hand and Cas’ arm in the other and made his way to the bed. He wasn’t sure how this was going to go down at all, but Cas looked in awe as he lay down next to Dean and reached out to pull him close. Dean went eagerly, hooking a leg over Cas’ thigh to pull him even closer. The kissing was softer now, some hard edge stripped away. It was just them now, nothing else. Castiel seemed to know what he wanted. He wormed his hand between them and stroked their dicks together. It was better than Dean remembered. His mouth was slack on Cas’ throat as he felt his balls pull tighter - just a little more! C’mon! - before Cas let go and cruelly encircled the base of Dean’s cock just before he came.

“Not yet, Dean.” His voice was low and rasping. The sound sent another wave of frustration though Dean. Fuck, he really was hard up if he was attempting to come at the sound of Cas’ voice. Dean went with it when Cas pushed at his shoulder, lying back on the bed and spreading his legs to make space for Castiel between his thighs. He looked down the length of his body as Castiel sucked his cock down. The urge to come built up again as that wet warmth seemed to flow all over him, turning his bones to liquid. Cas pulled back just as Dean's hips started to arch into his touch and felt in the mess of the sheets for the lube. Dean glared this time, not too pleased at being denied again.

"I promise it will be worth it, Dean." There was a dark, chocolatey hint of teasing in his voice now. Dean groaned as Cas deliberately and carefully opened the lube and smeared it on his fingers. Dean nodded, knowing what was coming and not trusting his voice. He was right to. He cried out as Cas stroked into him, too much and not enough all at the same time. 

Then they were kissing again, mouths hungry and wet as Cas stretched Dean open in a way he hadn’t been for a very long time. The effort of holding back was making sweat drip into Cas’ eyes, sending his hair into wild tufts and making his skin glow in the soft light that made its way past the drapes. Then Castiel crooked his clever fingers and Dean stopped thinking at all.

 

Dean flopped face down onto the pillow while Cas lay beside him, chest heaving. Dean ended up rolling his head - using the little energy he had left - to watch the look of awe on Castiel's face. No one else ever looked like Dean was their entire world after sex. It was enough to make a man want to settle down.

Something was still puzzling Dean though. "Hey, Cas. Who've you been sent to kill in Almanac?" Dean knew his town. He'd spent a lot of time checking it out with EMF and holy water. Nothing suspicious had pinged his radar.

Cas shrugged. "I haven't looked. I wanted to see you - and Sam - first. I was just going to look..."

Dean flailed a hand weakly at Cas, still riding too high on his ever so satisfying orgasm to be annoyed at that. "Glad you didn't."

 

They showered separately. The bath wasn't big enough for both of them sadly. But they kissed on the way there and back. Dean even found himself humming a happy song to himself as he redressed, using Sam's comb to settle his hair into something like order. He was just about ready to flick on the TV and see what he was missing when the door flew open. 

It wasn't anyone from the hotel. Nope. This was a good, old-fashioned, kick in the flimsy lock style of door opening. Dean's gun lay on the nightstand and he made a move towards it before the black hole of a pistol ordered him to stand still. "Where's Castiel?"

Dean stared at the man, taking in everything about him. He was as ordinary as a man could get - nothing special about him. His entire demeanour screamed "ignore me". Everything but the gun pointed unwaveringly at Dean. In the bathroom, the shower cut off.

The man let out a grin, turning towards the bathroom. Dean took his chance, diving low behind the bed and grabbing for his gun. He caught the edge of the holster as he went down and the gun clattered to the floor. A silenced shot took out the edge of the sheet and thudded into the armchair Cas had been sitting in earlier. Dean drew himself up into a ball - as small a target as possible - before raising his eyes very carefully over the edge of the bed.

The man's face was puce, rapidly progressing towards scarlet as Castiel calmly garotted him. The gun tumbled out of his hand and he went to his knees, writhing in panic, trying to force Cas off. Castiel knew what he was doing, though. He pinned the man's body to the ground with a knee to his back and redoubled his grip. The man's struggles intensified for an instant before his whole body went slack. Castiel held tight for another couple of moments before letting him slump to the floor. The silence echoed around the room, oppressive and heavy.

Dean got to his feet, hooking his gun in place and moving around the bed to grab the man's weapon. "Friend of yours?"

"Work colleague." Castiel rolled him over and started efficiently searching the body, pulling another gun, knives, a strange knuckle-duster like device and a cell phone from the body. "In the loosest possible sense." Castiel poked at the phone for a moment before settling back on his heels and making a perturbed noise.

"What?" Dean liked the look of some of the knives. He reached out for one of them.

"He was sent to kill me and then complete my job." Cas rubbed his hand through his dripping hair, pulling it off his forehead. He was only wearing a towel, the marks Dean had left blooming vividly on his pale skin. Dean admired that for a moment before the import of Cas' words sunk in.

"So whoever you were sent to kill is probably still at risk?" Castiel pulled his clothes on quickly, leaving the shirt unbutton and the tie flapping loose around his neck.

"We need to find out who it is." Castiel stopped and pulled Dean to him, using a little bit too much of his strength to pull him into a hard kiss. "Don't suppose you know how to get rid of a body around here?"

 

In the end, Castiel made the phonecall he'd planned for the assassination of his intended target and Dean and he left the body behind a warehouse on the outskirts of the town. Then Castiel directed Dean towards an abandoned property the next town over. In the basement, hidden in an old wardrobe, Castiel's safe was still undisturbed. He typed in the code and drew out the sealed envelope.

Dean pulled out the sealed pack of cash and the broken down rifle. "Guess you really bought into the whole professional killer thing." He sounded halfway between amused and hysterical. Castiel didn't have time to reassure him. He slit open the envelope with one of his spare knives and pulled out the sheaf of paper. The contract on top was a copy of his standard one. Underneath lay blown up surveillance pictures of his target. He let the rest fall to the floor as he looked through the pictures.

They were all of Sam. Sam limping along on his stick. Sam drinking coffee. Sam sitting in the Impala beside Dean.

The rest of the information didn't matter. All that mattered was this. Dean was watching him suspiciously, obviously aware something was badly wrong. "Dean. I need you to remain calm."

"Me?" Castiel shook his head and handed the photographs over. "Sam." Dean sounded resigned and angry and somehow flatter. Much calmer than Castiel had expected. "All right. Who else is going to come after him?"

"Why are they after Sam?" Castiel couldn't work it out. He grabbed at the rest of the paperwork.

"Sam's pissed off some pretty powerful people, Cas. He's helped hunters take down major players all over the world." Dean rose to his feet, hands linked behind his head as he wheeled helplessly. "Shit, Sam." Dean kicked at an old rotten cardboard box which fluttered under his boots. "He just had to help."

"There is no way I would have killed Sam." Castiel said the words solemnly. They rang a little hollowly though. He'd threatened to kill Sam often enough in the past, whenever Sam was a danger. Dean looked at him dubiously. "Not now."

That seemed to be enough to prevent Dean unleashing his anger. "We've got to get to him." Dean checked his watch. "He'll be back at the house now."

"And alone?" Castiel emptied out the safe. He would need all his ammunition for this.

"You killed that assassin guy?" Dean watched him, taking the cash when Castiel handed it over. 

Castiel kept his voice as calm as he could when he stood, coat pockets bulging. "They wouldn't just send him." 

 

The house was quiet as the Impala pulled up. There weren't any strange cars parked in the street as far as Dean could see. Castiel was equally vigilant as he eased out of the car.

"Find Sam. Check why he isn't answering his phone." Cas already held a gun by his leg, camouflaged by the dark material of his pants. Dean pulled the car into the garage and used the door that led through to the rest of the house carefully. He had his own gun out now and worked his way through the rooms as quickly as he dared. Sam wasn't downstairs as far as he could make out, but there was a mug on the draining board and Sam's coat was over the end of the bannister. Dean ran up the stairs and was relieved to see his brother splayed out on his bed, hugging his pillow. Suppressing the worst of thoughts, Dean came into the room and shook Sam's shoulder. "Sammy?"

Sam snuffled and looked up blearily. "Why did I think this was a good idea?"

"It is a good idea. But we've got a problem." There was shouting from downstairs and then the slamming of doors and the unmistakeable sound of gunfire. "And I'm not the cause. Sam - they're here for you." His brother's face went white as a million old fears slammed home at once. Then Sam shook his head and pulled himself together.

"Where's Cas?" Sam pushed himself upright and grabbed for his stick. He hopped towards the stairs but Dean shoved him down.

"Don't know who's down there." Dean thought fast. The most defensible room was probably the bathroom. It was least likely to be hit by stray bullets. And if he stuck Sam in the tub, he'd have extra protection. "Where's your gun?"

Sam shrugged and Dean shook his head. Sam was taking this retirement thing a little too seriously. Dean swore. He didn't carry a back up any more himself. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of feet on the stairs. Dean clicked off the safety, relieved to see Castiel's familiar face appear.

"This room is too exposed-" he started.

"Bathroom." Dean threw his shoulder under Sam's bad side and they tumbled along the hallway and into the small room. Dean helped Sam into the tub and offered him his colt. He turned to see Cas holding out a fresh and shiny pistol. Dean hadn't had the chance to try out one of these babies. His gun club preferred him to bring his own weaponry.

"They killed the FBI agents." Cas was speaking quickly, like he would to an equal, another one of his team. None of the power plays of the past. No more of this "protect Dean" bullshit either. "I think there's three of them. Should we call the cops?"

"They'd just get themselves killed," Dean guessed. "But good for you thinking on the right side of the law."

"There's one other thing." Castiel looked at Sam in the bathtub before turning his whole attention back to Dean. "If we get through this.” Castiel stared intensely for a moment. “Will you marry me, Dean?"

Dean gaped. He could feel his jaw drop and everything. He ignored Sam's snicker and leaned forward to grab Cas' shirt and kiss him. "Ask me later. Survive now."

"Hey, you've got my blessing." Sam didn't quite get the severity of the situation to Dean's mind.

A crash from the back of the house had Castiel pulling away and racing down the stairs. "You know what to do," he yelled as he disappeared.

Dean shut the door and positioned himself behind the toilet, pulling the seat down to rest his hands on it. Sam shuffled until he was comfortable and hunched down, ready to shoot as well. "You and Cas made up then?"

Dean shot him an annoyed look. Too much to hope that being the target of an assassination attempt would divert Sam's mind. "Hey, at least I'm not the target of a criminal conspiracy."

 

Castiel risked a look out of the front of the house on his way towards the banging noise of someone trying to break through his barricade in the kitchen. The car that Dean said had been following him was parked diagonally on the grass, doors wide open and the FBI agents lying inside. Castiel swore to himself. That sight alone would have the neighbours calling for the police. He needed to get the situation under his control and fast. The battering from the back of the house stopped. Either his barricade had fallen or his unknown assailant had chosen another route. Castiel kept his weapon readied as he moved as quietly as he could through the house.

His grace flickered within him and he knew the man standing beyond the doorway. A demon high in the ranks of hell. Castiel had fought and defeated him at some cost during the siege for Dean Winchester. He was foul and reeking but Castiel knew him for what he was. He was also stuck in the devil’s trap that Dean had painstakingly drawn on the floor under the carpet. Castiel started the incantation, the old words falling off his tongue as he strode out into the kitchen, confident that the beast was contained.

The smashing of the glass in the room that had become Sam’s study alerted him to more human intervention. He ducked behind the door jam, readying his gun once more and continued the exorcism. The demon raised his gun to shoot and regretfully Castiel shot at his hand, never letting the flow of words stop. A gun pointed around the door of the study and Castiel let off a short burst, bullets shredding the wall paper and making the pictures shake and fall to the floor. The frames smashed open but Castiel still did not stop. He reached the last of the incantation, felt the power stream out of him and into the demon. Black smoke filled the air, the red of hellfire and the yellow of brimstone worked through it. It surged, hit the roof and plummeted down, straight to hell. Castiel jumped back as bullets battered into the wall beside him.

 

The sound of sirens reached his ears as he decided a direct approach was in order. Castiel ducked to the other side of the doorway and shouted, “Surrender.” His answer was another hail of bullets. He was able to pay more attention to them now. He thought carefully and then threw himself down the hallway. He’d counted right. The man crouching behind the door was in the midst of changing cartridges.

“Surrender. Or die.” Castiel held his gun steady at the man’s head. “Drop your weapon.”

The gun made a solid thump as it hit the carpet before the man launched himself up and forward. Castiel was taken by surprise and his gun fell out of his hand. His head rocked backwards and banged off the edge of the door as he fell. He was still able to roll with the man, fighting to keep his hands away from any other nasty surprise he might have hidden on his person. He took a punch to his ribs that drove all the air from his lungs.

Then the man had a knife in his hand, razor sharp and deadly. It grazed Castiel’s throat leaving a line of fire. Their rocking back and forth took a more frenzied form as Castiel fought to wrench the blade from the man. He needed his entire strength to grab at the man’s wrist, to tighten his fingers into the tendons and make him drop it. Then Castiel rolled them one last time, gathered his strength and punched the man hard, drawing on the remnants of his grace to give his fist weight and heft. He still split his knuckles but at last the man lay still.

Castiel scrabbled backwards, panting heavily. The noise of the sirens right outside was redoubling through his head and the world swum. He had enough presence of mind to pull himself up and climb the stairs, leaning heavily on the bannister. He opened the bathroom door and ducked as Dean raised his hands to shoot.

“I was not making a joke, Dean. I really would like you to marry me.” Castiel felt it was important to say as he fell forward. Dean caught him on the way down.

 

Dean never told Castiel how he’d managed to explain away the dead bodies and the unconscious ex-angel assassin lying on the bathroom floor. The cops and he had enough of an uneasy arrangement that everything was swept under the carpet. Turned out that the FBI agents on the lawn weren’t here officially (at least as far as anyone was saying) and that no record of Castiel existed on any wanted list in the system. Sam fixed the window - or called in help to fix the windows and they set the house to rights while Castiel recovered in hospital.

Dean interfered with the builders and waited three days to visit him. 

Castiel was still drawn, looking older again, as Dean came into the quiet side ward. “Hey.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel fixed his eyes on him. He had bandages around his throat and on his head but was unmarked otherwise. The vivid bruising on his ribs was hidden by the thin gown. Dean held out the bunch of gift shop flowers in mute apology. “It is good to see you.”

Dean couldn’t look away for a long moment. Then he came and sat on the bed and took up Castiel’s hand. “Were you serious? Or was it just a life/death moment thing?”

Castiel’s hand tightened on him. There were bandages on it too and Dean lightly brushed his fingertips across it. “Are you saying yes?”

“I’m not saying no,” Dean replied. He really should have talked to Sam about this but, for once, he was doing something just for himself. “Want to come live with me and find out?”

Castiel pushed himself off the bed, slowly, with his free hand. His eyes were wide and a flush of pink reinvigorated his cheeks. “I don’t want to leave again. I don’t want it to hurt. I want to stay, with you, and Sam, and help you and-” Dean kissed him, breaking into the flow of words he was still a little bit too afraid to hear. He’d listen later. He pressed Cas back to the bed and arranged himself along his side carefully.

Dean listened to Castiel’s breathing slow and settle into sleep again. He yawned himself, the weight of three sleepless nights crashing in. He wasn’t as young as he used to be. And maybe it was time Castiel saw what retirement really meant, after they’d spent a few weeks fucking like teenagers and making up for lost time. “Yeah, Cas, I’d like that.”


End file.
